


Les Amis Go Camping (Modern AU)

by jessicafauchelevent



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camping, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, rated Explicit because it will most likely end up going that way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicafauchelevent/pseuds/jessicafauchelevent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éponine has REALLY wanted to go camping since she was little, so she pitches the idea to Les Amis. Grantaire, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Bahorel, and eventually Enjolras join her on their first camping trip ever. Shenanigans of the extremely clichéd variety ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, there! This is my first Les Misérables fic, but since it is my favourite novel/musical/story in general, I wanted to give it a try. I came up with this idea when I was reading Les Misérables while camping this past summer and I wanted to put my favourite characters through the ups and downs of the "great outdoors". I'm drawing a lot of inspiration from my past camping trips with my family, so most of what you read is what I myself have experienced.
> 
> This work is un-beta'd, so I take full responsibility for any errors, whatsoever. Also, I realize that the layout and styling is atrocious, but this is also my first time using Ao3 to publish anything! (If you have any suggestions in regards to that, they would be GREATLY APPRECIATED!)
> 
> Enjoy!

\-------------------------------------------------------

_But when you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell  
You don’t kno-o-ow_

“ _You don’t know you’re beautiful!_ ” Éponine sang along. Grantaire watched her from the passenger seat, an amused smile on his lips. He took a long drag of his cigarette while the trees and rocks rushed by his window in a blur of greens, pinks, greys, and browns. Éponine looked over at him and grinned, her hair blowing across her face. She turned her attention back to the road, only for it to be stolen a half-second later when she saw the sign proclaiming that the entrance to the campsite they were headed to was their next exit.

“We’re almost there!” she shrieked in excitement. She turned the music down, giving Grantaire the chance to speak.

“Sorry, but remind me again why we’re doing this?” he asked, flicking his cigarette butt out his window.

Éponine let out a long-suffering sigh, mostly due to the fact that Grantaire had asked her that same question fourteen times during the two-hour drive, coupled with the customary “Are we there yet?” of those who didn’t travel much.

“I’ve already told you, ‘Taire. Camping is the number one thing that’s been on my bucket list since I was little.” She glanced over at her companion while she turned off onto the side road. “I promise that it won’t be as bad as you think.” When Grantaire only grunted in response, she focused on driving again, humming along to the song on the radio.

Grantaire didn’t want to press the matter any further, so he watched out the windshield as they drove along a dirt road, the forest on either side gradually getting thicker as they went. Although he preferred the indoors, he had to admit that the lush green of the trees and fresh air was rather beautiful. 

Moments later, they pulled up to small shack where Éponine got out of the car and stretched. There was a crunch on gravel as Combeferre pulled up beside them in his car. Courfeyrac got out of the front passenger seat and came to rest his elbows on Grantaire’s window.

“Welcome to the great outdoors, ‘Taire!” he said, making a broad gesture to the trees surrounding them. He was obviously just as excited for the trip as Éponine was, judging by the way he couldn’t stop smiling and bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Jean Prouvaire popped his head out of the back window of Combeferre’s car, which was a considerable feat to accomplish, considering the enormous floppy sun hat that he was wearing. “Hello, Grantaire,” he said softly, a faint smile on his face. “Isn’t it beautiful here?”

Before Grantaire could even open his mouth to respond, Courfeyrac whooped “Yes, it is!” and darted forward to press a kiss to the poet’s cheek. Jean flushed scarlet and retreated back into the backseat, fiddling with the long sleeves of his sweater. Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up as Courfeyrac skipped away to twirl Éponine around, oblivious to the effect that he had on his friend.

Combeferre’s gaze was drawn to the pair as well once Éponine’s laughter rang out through the clearing. Grantaire found his eyebrows raising even higher when a small smile appeared on Combeferre’s face. 

When Éponine and Courfeyrac continued spinning like children, Grantaire stuck his head out of his window and shouted: “What exactly are we waiting for? We’re not camping _here_ , right?”

Éponine came over to lean back against the hood of the car, shaking her hair back and tilting her chin towards the sun. “We’re waiting for Feuilly and Bahorel.”

“And possibly Enjolras,” Combeferre chimed in.

Éponine nodded. “I really wish that the others were willing to come as well.”

Courfeyrac laughed as he came over to join the group. “Honestly, could you imagine Joly and Bossuet camping outdoors for a week? Joly’d be a nervous wreck and with Bossuet’s luck, he’d probably fall into the campfire.”

Everyone’s laughter was joined by the crunching of gravel as Bahorel’s pickup pulled up to join the other two vehicles. Feuilly hopped out of the truck before Bahorel even came to a complete stop, muttering, “He drives like a fucking lunatic,” to the rest of the group.

Bahorel appeared seconds after, letting out a loud groan while he stretched his arms over his head. Everyone exchanged greetings, and Éponine said “So, if you were driving like a madman, then why are you here after us?”

Bahorel glared at Feuilly, who chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “ _Well_ , we passed a rest stop with a liquor store, so we stopped and picked up a few uh...camping necessities,” Bahorel explained. 

“What’d you get?” Grantaire asked, interest piqued.

Feuilly huffed, clearly not as pleased as Grantaire. “Four 24’s, two bottles of whiskey, three bottles of vodka, and a bottle of rum. Bahorel spent nearly 300 bucks!”

Combeferre let out a low whistle and Jean tsked in disapproval. “We already brought a 24 and two bottles of wine, Bahorel. Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?”

“God, no,” Grantaire and Bahorel responded simultaneously.

“ _Anyways_ ,” Éponine said. “Enough about that. Who’s going to come in to book the campsites with me?”

“I will!” Combeferre offered. Grantaire hoped for his friend’s sake that he was the only one to notice not only his enthusiasm, but also the fact that he nearly tripped over his own two feet when he walked.

“So, what are we going to do while we’re here?” Feuilly asked. Since he didn’t exactly plan on going hiking at any point during the trip, Grantaire tuned out of the conversation. His thoughts wandered to something Combeferre had said earlier: there was a possibility that Enjolras would be joining them.

Although Grantaire had a harder time picturing the stoic blond camping than he had himself, he couldn’t deny that having him there would be enjoyable. Enjolras probably had as much experience camping as Grantaire did, and he would be a welcome addition to the scenery.

He was broken out of his reverie by Éponine and Combeferre rejoining them. “Alright, boys. We’ve got two campsites, side-by-side, and I told them to tell Enjolras where we are if he comes asking for us---”

“Are the sites near the bathrooms?” Bahorel interrupted.

“And the beach?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Yes and yes,” Combeferre replied. “Now let’s go and set up.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

By the time that their group got their campsites set up, the sky was darkening through the trees. Éponine couldn’t stop smiling while she was wandering around the campsite, making sure that the tents were stable and the tarps were tied to the right trees in case of rain. 

She was also taking pictures of everyone and everything, from their tents to the rock in the middle of their site to a _very_ aggravated Grantaire. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked after hearing the _click!_ of the shutter as he lit a cigarette. 

“It’s for Azelma and Gavroche,” she replied. “Azelma got upset because I wouldn’t let her come with us and Gavroche has never been, either; I figured I’d document the trip for them.” She turned the camera on him again, managing to snap a photo before he stopped smiling. She cut him off when he opened his mouth in protest. “I’ve got to document the _whole_ trip, Grantaire.”

“Wonderful,” he replied, voice heavy with sarcasm. Éponine responded by lightly poking him in the cheek, which earned a grumbled “Fuck off” and small, reluctant smile.

“ _So_ , what are the sleeping arrangements, my friends?” Courfeyrac asked, waggling his eyebrows and slinging an arm around both Éponine and Grantaire.

“Well, we have four tents, and there’s seven of us, so we should probably figure out who’ll be pairing up with who--” she was cut off by everyone trying to speak at once, each of them voicing their opinions.

Once they’d all settled down and figured it out, Éponine repeated the arrangements, ticking each pair off on her fingers: “Okay. So, Bahorel and Feuilly in the other campsite, along with Jean and Courfeyrac in the other tent. Combeferre and I in his tent, and Grantaire gets my tent to himself.” Everyone murmured their assent, especially Grantaire, who was sporting a triumphant grin after convincing Éponine to bunk with Combeferre instead of him. Not only did he get the queen-sized air mattress to himself, he also didn’t have to put up with Éponine’s snoring.

They were all the very picture of happiness, and not even Grantaire could deny that the fresh air revived him. Being away from the city wasn’t so bad, after all.

Grantaire settled into one of the folding camp chairs that was stationed around the firepit. He lit a cigarette and leaned his head back, watching the tendrils of smoke float into the trees above. 

He was reaching into his jacket pocket for the flask that he carried with him (a bargain that he’d picked up at a local smoke shop) as Éponine dropped into the chair beside him. She sighed happily as she watched the smoke dance lazily upwards, as well. “God, it’s beautiful here.”

“So you’ve said,” Grantaire replied. He shivered slightly when a gust of wind ruffled his hair. He moved his gaze from the leafy canopy above to Éponine, glaring at her while he rubbed his forearms in an attempt to warm himself up. She responded by sticking her tongue out at him. “Courf and Jean went to get firewood, so just suck it up for a little while longer.”

Grantaire took a long pull from his flask and looked around the two campsites. Noticing that their other friends were absent as well, he asked “Where’d Bahorel and Feuilly go?”

“They’ve gone to the Park Mall. As soon as Éponine mentioned that they sold fudge and ice cream, they were gone,” Combeferre explained, coming out of his tent. 

“They’re like giant children,” Éponine quipped, Combeferre and Grantaire both murmuring their agreement.

The comfortable silence that the trio then fell into was interrupted by Courfeyrac’s loud laughter as he and Jean Prouvaire walked back to the campsite. They all turned to watch the pair, Courfeyrac with a bag of firewood in each hand and Prouvaire balancing a large bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bag of kindling in the other.

Courfeyrac dropped the firewood on the ground near the pit before dramatically dropping into a chair. “Well, that’s one job done. ‘Ferre, where did you put my bag?”

“It’s still in the back of the car, where you left it,” Combeferre replied, rolling his eyes.

“Excellent,” Courfeyrac replied, bouncing back onto his feet and making his way towards the car. Prouvaire settled down into a chair and set to work linking together the flowers that he had collected.

Grantaire would have been content just watching Prouvaire work away at his chain of flowers, but his attention was drawn to the red canister that Courfeyrac extracted from his duffel bag. “What the _hell_ is that?”

“Camping fuel,” Courfeyrac responded, making his way over to the firepit.

“Right. What’s it for?” Grantaire inquired, taking another sip from his flask.

“Starting the fire, obviously,” Courfeyrac replied.

“Oh, Christ,” Éponine groaned, while Combeferre attempted to reason with Courfeyrac. “Surely there must be safer ways to start a fire, Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac just snorted. “Trust me, this will be _much_ more effective.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

As effective as the camping fuel was, Courfeyrac managed to light his sleeve on fire, causing him to topple backwards into Jean Prouvaire’s lap. 

After Courfeyrac apologizing profusely to the blushing poet, the group managed to settle down around the fire. Bahorel and Feuilly arrived moments later, and the received a very warm welcome when the rest of the group discovered that they had bought about half a dozen different flavours of fudge from the Park Mall.

“Shall we break out the marshmallows?” Bahorel asked the group.

“I’d rather break out these hot dogs,” Grantaire said, holding up the package that he found in the cooler, waving it a couple times and then returning to his search for the bottle of whiskey that Feuilly had mentioned earlier. 

Éponine clapped her hands in excitement. “Ooh, hot dogs cooked over a campfire sound amazing!”

Everyone set to cooking the hot dogs on the massive steel forks that Combeferre supplied. They all ate their fill quickly, everyone eagerly devouring the hot dogs after smelling them cooking.

A couple of hours flew by with the group laughing around the fire. Grantaire could feel his cheeks getting increasingly flushed as he switched out his flask for one of the bottles of whiskey. He watched the group around him, thinking that he much preferred their company to his sketchbook and empty bottles in his flat. 

He watched as Éponine tossed a marshmallow across the firepit and laughed with everyone when it landed in Bahorel’s mouth.

Éponine reached over and grabbed the bottle from Grantaire’s hand, earning a shout of protest from him until she returned it after taking a sip.

“Isn’t this fun?” Éponine asked with a smile, the reflection of the flames dancing in her eyes. 

Grantaire had to admit that it was, and he found that he didn’t regret saying so when a huge grin spread across Éponine’s face.

He was left to himself when Éponine turned to her other side to talk to Combeferre. Grantaire continued watching everyone else while the fire flickered in the darkness in the middle of their circle. He watched as Prouvaire and Courfeyrac chatted together, each of them taking the moment the other looked away as an opportunity to stare. Bahorel and Feuilly, in the meantime, were reading through the park’s newspaper to find out if any of the special events were worth attending and to decide on the best way to bear-proof the campsites.

The sudden noise of a car pulling up to their campsite drew everyone’s attention. No one could see what type of car it was, as the visitor was hidden from view by the other vehicles and the darkness of the night. 

“Shit, I hope that isn’t a park ranger,” Feuilly said.

Éponine scoffed. “Oh, please. The ‘rangers’ are all about eighteen years old. They’re probably ten times the disruption to the campground that we are.” She got up and grabbed a flashlight and shining it at the intruder in their campsite.

“What the hell are you doing?!” an angry voice complained, having just gotten the entire beam of light in his eyes.

Grantaire nearly dropped his whiskey; he’d know that voice anywhere.

“Enjolras!” Prouvaire cried in surprised delight, waving from his chair.

_Wonderful._


	2. Morning Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sleeping arrangements are made and awkward morning after conversations are had.

Grantaire let out a strangled, half-choking noise when his eyes fell upon Enjolras, who was looking at the group assembled around the campfire. He addressed them each in turn, even giving Grantaire a small smile before his eyes fell upon the half-empty bottle clutched in the drunk’s left hand. That prompted the disappearance of his smile and thinned his mouth into a straight line.

In response to Enjolras’s clearly disappointed expression, Grantaire merely raised his bottle in a mock-toast to him and returned to watching the fire dance.

“Well, you actually decided to join us? I’m impressed,” Éponine remarked, sounding as genuinely surprised as the rest of them were. 

Enjolras took a few steps forward, and was met by Bahorel, who slung an arm around his shoulders and led him to the picnic table, which had been pulled towards the fire. “We didn’t think you’d come! But it’s good to have you, mate.”

“Yes, well, I finished my assignments and decided that it might be a nice idea. I didn’t expect it to be so cold, though,” Enjolras said, pulling his jacket closer around himself. “I thought it might be a nice way to unwind.”

Grantaire couldn’t really see Enjolras “unwinding” without his laptop a few feet away, but he held his tongue in favour of taking another drink from the bottle in his hand. He studied Enjolras in the firelight and yearned, not for the first time that day, for a paintbrush and canvas.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the night went on, the sky filled with laughter while everyone drank and shared stories around the fire. It wasn’t until Grantaire nearly started dozing off in his chair that everyone started going into their respective tents for the night.

Before Combeferre went off into his tent, he turned to Enjolras. “I don’t suppose you brought a tent?”

Enjolras looked startled and glanced around the two campsites. “Er...no?”

“Well. I guess you’ll have to sleep outside...hopefully no animals decide to visit our campsite…” Éponine said, voice laced with doubt.

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh at the reaction she got; he had never before seen Enjolras look frightened. He could reduce those who dared to challenge his beliefs to tears, but he wouldn’t be able to win a debate against a hungry bear.

Prouvaire, too, saw the look of horror on Enjolras’s face. “Don’t tease him, Éponine!” he hissed.

Éponine responded by poking Enjolras’s cheek playfully. “I’m only joking, silly. We’ll find a spot for you somewhere…” she trailed off and looked around the campsites. Her eyes fell upon her own tent and the corners of her lips lifted into a smile. She switched her gaze to Grantaire and gave him a meaningful look.

Grantaire groaned inwardly. He regretted what he was saying as the words left his mouth. “There’s...room in my tent, if you don’t mind sharing,” he said. He couldn’t imagine Enjolras saying yes, after all he knew that he really didn’t like him, and definitely wouldn’t want to share a tent with him, and Enjolras could easily just switch with Éponine so then he could share with Combeferre, and---

“That sounds fine.”

The reply from Enjolras effectively cut off Grantaire’s internal monologue and rendered him speechless. He was grateful for Éponine’s interjection, something along the lines of “It’s settled then!”, because he couldn’t have thought of any semi-eloquent response, himself. He just settled for nodding and trying to convey his thanks to Éponine with his eyes.

After a few minutes that mostly consisted of Grantaire, Enjolras, Éponine, and Bahorel staring into the fire, Grantaire felt his eyes growing heavy. “I think I’m going to turn in,” he announced.

“Night, hon,” Éponine said. He could hear the other two murmur their “goodnights” from their places by the fire as he made his way to the tent. Once he was inside and had zipped up the tent, he curled up underneath the blankets, and soon after he heard footsteps approaching. He couldn’t think of anything to say to his new tentmate, so he just shut his eyes and tried to relax his breathing.

There was very little noise once he was joined by Enjolras in the tent, just the open and close of the zipper and Enjolras clearing his throat quietly. Grantaire tried not to roll to the other side of the air bed once Enjolras’s weight descended upon the mattress, but it was most likely his stillness that broke his façade of unconsciousness. Enjolras simply faced the opposite side of the tent and muttered, “Sleep well, Grantaire.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grantaire woke up with a sore back and an arm that was tingling with pins and needles. The first was likely the result sleeping on a half-deflated air mattress.

The second was most definitely caused by the sleeping blond on top of his arm.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Grantaire knew that it would be impossible to change positions without waking Enjolras, which would undoubtedly lead to a rather uncomfortable conversation and Enjolras being the unfortunate victim of Grantaire’s morning breath.

Grantaire considered just pulling his arm out quickly. While it would definitely wake Enjolras, he would also might be able to get off of the air mattress before his tentmate turned around and saw that Grantaire was about two inches away from his face.

Just as he was about to move, Enjolras let out a small groan in his sleep and rolled over, and Grantaire could feel his heart stop in his chest. He knew that he had about 0.6 seconds before he did something stupid that would ruin this moment, but he had to spend that time simply _looking_ at Enjolras.

Enjolras was beautiful. Grantaire knew that; he _felt_ that everyday that he was near him. However, he had never had the chance to see Enjolras when he was sleeping and vulnerable. The way that his lips were slightly parted, his slight exhales hitting Grantaire’s collarbone, combined with the way that a few curls were falling over his forehead gave Grantaire the urge to curl his other arm around him to pull him closer to his chest and never let go.

Just as Grantaire had predicted, it couldn’t last for long. Enjolras let out a small groan which slowly turned into a sigh (Grantaire would sooner die than forget that noise) and opened his eyes. Grantaire saw the confusion flicker across Enjolras’s face, but before he knew it, he could see his own reflection in the other man’s widened eyes.

“Grantaire?” he said, voice groggy from sleep. He lifted one hand to rub at his eyes, his knuckles nearly brushing Grantaire’s nose as he did so. It was almost as if Enjolras only then realized their proximity, or maybe he could smell his bed mate’s breath when he exhaled, because he quickly rose from the bed. Grantaire nearly cried out in relief from the weight being lifted from his now-dead arm.

“You move around too much in your sleep,” Grantaire said, trying to ease the discomfort that they both felt.

Enjolras snorted. “It’s hard not to when the bed itself won’t stay still,” he replied, stretching his arms over his head and Grantaire tried desperately not to stare because good Lord, he could see the trail of coarse hair that disappeared below Enjolras’s waistline.

Grantaire tried to divert his own attention to massaging his arm to return feeling to it. He too rose to a sitting position and couldn’t stop an enormous yawn from escaping him. The pair were saved from any future uncomfortable silences when someone came rushing to their tent and unzipped the door.

“Breakfast is ready!” a smiling Éponine announced. Grantaire could not have possibly heard better news, since it provided him with an easy escape. He was up and out of the tent before Enjolras could even respond to Éponine.

Grantaire was followed by Éponine shortly after, concern creasing her brow. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Grantaire tried to hide a smile. It didn’t happen often, but Éponine had a natural, mothering instinct that came out when she was around Grantaire. “It’s nothing,” he replied. “It was just a little bit awkward last night.”

“We can always switch if you want to, ‘Taire. Enjolras and Combeferre would probably be more comfortable sharing, and God knows that you and I’ve shared enough times.”

Grantaire only shook his head in response. Before anything else could be said, he was immediately distracted by what everyone else was cooking over the campfire. “Is that bacon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly: Thank you so much for reading! Y'all are the loveliest people in the world. I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter and that my characterization wasn't terribly off (feedback is very much appreciated!)
> 
> Secondly: I am SO sorry that it's taken me so long to post! With work and the (colossal) writer's block that I've had, it took me a lot longer than I thought it would to finish this chapter. However, every view, comment and Kudos that this work got with its first chapter is so very appreciated (and so much more than I expected). 
> 
> As usual, you are more than welcome to chat with me through my inbox here, or over at tumblr.com where I go by bimbofaggins.


	3. Cliff Diving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bahorel, Feuilly, and Éponine are insane and Grantaire gets inspired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for how long this has taken me to update, but now I promise that I really know where I'm going with it, so I'll be updating much more often. I also promise that the X-rated bits will (hopefully) be coming up in the next couple chapters.

After much deliberation as to how to spend their first full day camping, the group decided to go for a hike through the woods to explore the campground.

When Combeferre had been looking through the park’s newspaper, he had found a trail that would lead them to the peak boasting the most impressive view of the lake. Most of them agreed to go for lack of a better thing to do. Prouvaire wanted to go so that he could see the wildlife and flowers; Grantaire hoped that the scenic hike would inspire him to think about something other than who he would be sharing his bed with that night.

As it turned out, the only thing that the hike was inspiring was Grantaire’s dirty mind when he caught a glimpse of Enjolras’s ass while he walked in front of him up a hill.

Throughout the hike, he was caught staring at least six different times by different people. He was mostly met with sniggers, excepting Bahorel and Éponine. The former laughed rather loudly and said, “How are you enjoying the view, Grantaire?”, while the latter just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

When they finally got to the top of the hill (with Grantaire cursing his smoker’s lungs as they ascended), they were all awestruck by the view before them.

For the second time during their trip, Grantaire’s hands itched to hold a paintbrush. With the sparkling water and the reds, oranges, and greens of all of the trees surrounding them, he could have painted the most beautiful landscape of what he saw.

“Wow,” a voice breathed beside him. He turned to see Enjolras, eyes wide and lips parted as he looked to the island in the middle of the lake. Grantaire simply nodded in agreement, studying Enjolras’s profile in the fading light. The group’s hike had been rather late, with them leaving their campsites in the middle of the afternoon. The pink and orange of the setting sun was casting an array of colours over Enjolras’s hair, turning him from beautiful to radiant in mere seconds.

Grantaire’s admiration of the beauty of the man by his side was interrupted by what felt like a giant spider monkey clinging to his back. It turned out to be Éponine, who pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Isn’t this wonderful?” she sighed.

“It really is,” he agreed. “Do you think we could all hang out here for a while?” he asked. He was sure that he could stay under the pretense that he wanted to enjoy the view, maybe even take a few pictures and claim that they’re for reference for later paintings. What he really wanted, though, was to try to burn the image of the way that the natural light was reflecting off of Enjolras’s eyes just so into his mind so that he could try to capture it on a canvas.

“I think that that’s a great idea,” Combeferre said. “There’s actually supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, so this would be a fantastic spot to view it from.” He was immediately bombarded with questions from Éponine about it, and the rest of the group (mainly Bahorel and Feuilly) celebrated the fact that they had actually packed a sort of picnic and taken it with them.

With all of his friends surrounding him, Grantaire felt more at ease than he ever did back home in the city.

Bahorel came up and slung his arm around Combeferre’s shoulders. “This may be the perfect spot to see a meteor shower, but did you think about the fact that it’s also the perfect spot to cliff-dive from?” he asked, pointing over the side of the hill into the water. He was right; there were no rocks jutting out at the bottom, only crystal clear water.

“Did you think about the fact that the water is cold enough for you to get hypothermia?” asked Enjolras, eyebrows raised.

Bahorel scoffed. “Oh, please. You may not have noticed, but this is why Feuilly and I brought tons of towels with us on the hike. We’ll be fine as long as we bundle up after.”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” offered Courfeyrac.

Combeferre groaned. “For the love of God, Courf, please don’t encourage them.” He then turned with a desperate look to Grantaire and Éponine. “Can’t you two convince them that this is a bad idea?”

Éponine laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t fret, Combeferre. They’ll be fine,” at Combeferre’s incredulous expression, she smirked. “Because I’m going with them!” she shouted gleefully, running to Bahorel and Feuilly. The trio stripped down to their underwear, and before anyone could stop them, they grabbed hands and went screaming over the cliff.

Combeferre rushed to the edge and looked over into the water, a horrified expression on his face. He visibly relaxed when Éponine’s head broke the surface and she waved at him from below.

“Are we really sure that they’ll be okay in there?” a voice at Grantaire’s side asked. He turned and saw Enjolras, concern knitting his brows together.

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh. “Honestly, they’ll be fine. When ‘Ponine and I road-tripped to Canada last year, we went swimming in _September_ ,” he forced a shudder, earning a small chuckle from Enjolras. “ _That_ was cold. This is nothing.”

The pair stood silent for a moment, both of them watching their friends splash in the water below. It was broken by Enjolras, sighing contentedly before saying: “I’m actually really happy that I decided to come.”

Grantaire would be lying if he said that he wasn’t surprised, but tried not to show it. “Oh? Decided that human company’s better than electronic, have you?”

Much to Grantaire’s further surprise, Enjolras laughed lightly. “I guess so. Although that tent’s definitely making me miss my bed at home. Although the peace makes up for it.”

Grantaire made a noise of agreement, and they were then joined by Jean Prouvaire, who had a moth perched on his finger. “Isn’t it beautiful? Look at the pattern on its wings, ‘Taire.” Neither Grantaire nor Enjolras could help a small smile at Prouvaire’s interest in the moth. His eyes lit up as it crawled into his palm and he let out a breathy giggle as it flew away.

Grantaire smiled at his friend and let him brush the curling tendrils of hair from his forehead. Enjolras merely turned away and watched the setting sun over the edge of the cliff.

Prouvaire pulled Grantaire to the grass to sit beside him and leaned against his side. “Have you any painting ideas yet?”

Grantaire was not the least bit surprised that Jean picked up on his complete creativity block. He had found himself completely unable to produce anything more than mediocre the past few days. His hands did not have the tell-tale stains of charcoal and paint, nor did his clothes.

Even though he was about to respond in the negative, he suddenly caught a glimpse of Enjolras, the dying light rendering him into a breathing masterpiece. He began tracing the lines of the other man’s face with his eyes, burning them into his memory so that he could transfer them onto paper in a more private place later on.

He turned to the younger man sitting beside him, still waiting for a response to his question. “Actually, Jean, I think I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind comments on the previous chapters, and I apologize for how short this one is, but it is meant as a kind of filler chapter so that I can get into the good stuff next!
> 
> Just to let everyone know, the places that our beloved characters go in this story are based on a real campground!!! It's called Killbear Provincial Park (in Ontario, Canada) and I've been going there since I was a little kid, as my parents first discovered it when they were dating. I would highly recommend checking it out at http://www.ontarioparks.com/park/killbear because it is absolutely gorgeous (the pictures really don't do it justice!).
> 
> Thank you again xoxoxo


	4. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our beloved revolutionaries encounter an intruder in their area and feelings are kind-of, sorta, maybe revealed (in an extremely sleepy state).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on real-life actual events that happened two years ago when I was camping (sans cute friends and romantic feelings). It was actually around the same time that I thought of writing a camping AU! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and I am sorry for how long it's taken me to update. Now I have the ball rolling, so hopefully the updates will be happening more frequently!

“I _still_ can’t believe that you guys actually jumped off of a cliff. It’s early September, for Christ’s sake!” Despite the fact that a truly terrifying glare was directed at them, Bahorel, Feuilly, and Éponine just laughed at Combeferre, repeating the same sentiment for the third (and likely not the last) time that evening.

Éponine, who was sitting beside him at the picnic table, lightly bumped his shoulder with her own. “Well, even though it was fun, I do still need to warm up a bit,” she said. She got up and made her way to her tent, Combeferre’s eyes following her with every step that she took.

She emerged just a few minutes later, wearing a pullover sweater that Grantaire did not recognize as one of her own. He glanced over at Combeferre, and saw that his cheeks were stained with a blush nearly as deep as the red of the sweater that Éponine wore. He heard a sharp intake of breath from his left, and turned his head with one eyebrow raised.

The source of the noise turned out to be Enjolras. At Grantaire’s inquisitive expression, the other man leaned towards him slightly and whispered: “That’s Ferre’s favourite sweater.”

Grantaire looked over to Courfeyrac and could practically see the gears turning in his head as well as he recognized the sweater. He then turned to Jean Prouvaire with a smirk and whispered in his ear. Bahorel and Feuilly both remained out of the loop and looking thoroughly confused, while Éponine and Combeferre were simply oblivious to the chatter around them.

Everyone just sat in a companionably relative silence for a while, the only noises coming from the fire crackling and Bahorel humming under his breath. Grantaire was just about to take a drink from his ever-ready flask when he heard a noise from the campsite across from them.

He was clearly not the only one who had heard it, as Prouvaire whipped his head around to stare into the darkness and Combeferre sat bolt upright. The opposite campsite had been empty the whole day, the occupant having left shortly after they returned from their hike. Grantaire heard the noise again; a sort of rustling followed by a dull thud. He completely missed the way that Enjolras stiffened, his knuckles going white against the arm of his chair.

Bahorel was the first to move, standing just at the edge of their site to look over. “I _think_ that there’s something over there, but I could be wrong. It’s too dark to tell.” Grantaire could see what he was talking about, but all that he could see was a darker shape against the black of the night.

Combeferre followed Bahorel’s lead, but instead of just standing, he had his car keys in hand. Everyone else was behind him shortly after, with Enjolras bringing up the rear. The usually fearless leader of their group was shaking like a leaf, and while Grantaire felt bad for him, he found it difficult not to laugh. He had never seen Enjolras so shaken up before, even though the worst that it could be would probably be a deer.

Everyone waited with bated breath as Combeferre turned the keys in the ignition. What followed after could only be described with one word: _chaos_.

Instead of the deer that Grantaire had hoped to see, the group was met with an enormous black bear, who was happily digging through their neighbour’s cooler, foolishly left at the site while he was gone.

The group’s reactions were mixed. The most memorable were Bahorel’s shout of “Holy _fuck_!” and a rather shrill scream from Courfeyrac, but at that moment all Grantaire could focus on was a hand wrapped tightly around his arm.

He turned to see an entirely white-faced Enjolras, practically trembling from fear. He jumped a second later at what was apparently Combeferre honking the horn, adding a second hand to Grantaire’s arm, this one clutching the juncture between shoulder and neck. Grantaire’s eyes met Enjolras’s, and the other man gave him a shaky smile.

Enjolras was as rigid as a board by the time that the bear reared up on its hind legs and fled into the forest behind the opposite campsite. Bahorel and Feuilly waited a moment or two before they grabbed the flashlights from the picnic table so that they could go investigate.

Combeferre emerged from the car, brows knitted together in a mixture of surprise and concern. “I hope that it doesn’t decide to come back later on.”

Enjolras let out a shaky laugh and loosened his hold on Grantaire’s arm. Grantaire had a hard time focussing on anything other than the fact that the blond did not relinquish his hold entirely, and he could feel his fingertips brushing against his collarbone. Unfortunately, Enjolras seemed to notice at the same time as Grantaire, as he let go entirely and stepped backwards.

“That thing was ridiculously huge. It looked like Mor’du from _Brave_ ,” Éponine said, still looking more than a little shaken. She relaxed slightly when Combeferre put his hand on her shoulder. Grantaire couldn’t help but grin when he saw her smile sweetly up at him.

He found himself so focussed on trying to see through the shadows across the road that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt an arm wrap around his waist. Jean Prouvaire leaned heavily against his side, resting his cheek against Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire resigned himself to stroking his friend’s hair while the poet hummed something that sounded suspiciously like _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ into his ear.

Bahorel and Feuilly returned shortly, both looking relieved. “It looks like our friend has left for the night; he took out a couple tree branches on his way, too,” Feuilly said, swinging one of said branches like a baseball bat.

There was a murmur of relief from the group, and they all decided to return to their campfire. Grantaire took his seat next to Enjolras, pretending not to notice when he jumped with every pop of the flames.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Enjolras and Grantaire both lay still as they listened to the wind blow against their tent. Enjolras shifted restlessly, causing Grantaire to roll back and forth, preventing him from falling asleep. Grantaire made a point of sighing loudly, earning him an exasperated glare from Enjolras.

“I’m just trying to get comfortable,” Enjolras snapped. Grantaire held his hands up, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. He tried to lay as still as possible while Enjolras attempted to right himself on the air mattress. His bedmate finally stopped moving with a contented sigh.

It finally seemed like Grantaire was going to be able to sleep when he heard a twig snap outside. _Oh, God, please no_ , he thought. Enjolras tensed up instantly and flipped over so that he was laying on his stomach and staring at the back of the tent, almost as if he could see through the fabric.

“Enjolras, relax. It’s probably just a racoon,” Grantaire groaned. There was another _snap!_ outside, but it sounded both closer and louder than the one before. Grantaire would have been lying if he said that he wasn’t scared, himself. Both of them waited, completely still, not even daring to breathe too loudly, lest they attract the attention of whatever was outside of their tent.

Whatever it was came right to the side of the tent and started sniffing around, rubbing its nose along the fabric in the process. Enjolras reached out and grabbed Grantaire’s hand, shrinking against his pillow and keeping his lips clamped together tightly. Grantaire tried to focus on the fact that they could be in _actual danger_ , but laced their fingers together, anyways.

Their nighttime visitor continued his inspection of their tent, and mere seconds felt like hours to Grantaire while he held his breath and tried desperately not to move. The heavy breathing outside finally subsided and he heard the muffled crunch of twigs and leaves underfoot as the creature made its way from their tent.

Enjolras and Grantaire let out a long sigh of relief in unison. Enjolras laid his head down on his pillow, chuckling lightly. “At least we’re safe,” Grantaire said. “I’m not entirely sure about everyone else, but we’re alright.”

Enjolras chuckled again, this time more quietly and more muffled by his pillow. He suddenly lifted his head and looked at Grantaire for a very long time, a pensive expression drawing his features together. “You’re not a bad tent mate, you know.”

Grantaire could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, eternally grateful for the shelter that the dark of the tent provided. “You’re not so bad, yourself,” he whispered, but it seemed that his words were lost on Enjolras, who had his eyes closed and his mouth just slightly open. Grantaire smiled, barely believing that the man whom he had longed for a compliment from for so long had finally given him one and then promptly fell asleep, likely to forget in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this chapter was relatively short, but I hope that you all enjoyed it! As always, any feedback is very much appreciated because I do love hearing from everybody!


	5. Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are not one, but TWO substantial movements for our beloved characters, and they have to figure out how to do dishes "in the wild".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such trash I'm so sorry that this has taken me so long to post, but I REALLY wanted to put a lot of thought into this one. This could alternately be titled "Jessica abuses italics when writing" oops

Grantaire couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t know how it happened, but there was a crushing weight resting on his chest and he was fairly certain that he was going to die.

Even though he knew that he should, he didn’t want to open his eyes. He just wanted it to be over and done with, and couldn’t help but think that the campground would be a beautiful place to die.

_This is the end,_ he thought. Suddenly, the weight on his chest shifted, rubbing against his sternum and settling with the same heaviness on top of his lungs.

He cracked one eye open and all he saw was an abundance of unruly blond waves, spilling across his chest like liquid gold. Despite being able to breathe easier, he still couldn’t quite manage to catch his breath.

He reached to grasp the hand resting on his shoulder, giving it a shake in an attempt to wake the entirely unconscious Enjolras who was covering at least half of Grantaire’s body with his own.

After what felt like hours - but was probably only two minutes at the absolute most - of Grantaire desperately shaking Enjolras, he finally got a response from his companion:

Enjolras let out a faint groan and pressed his face further into Grantaire’s chest, promptly freezing afterwards. Grantaire felt the muffled exclamation of confusion against his chest, and he couldn’t help freezing up in return. He fully expected Enjolras to get up, to recoil in disgust for having touched him without knowing.

What he was not expecting, however, was for Enjolras to relax further, and to slowly tilt his head up so that he was looking directly into Grantaire’s eyes.

“Good morning,” Grantaire breathed.

Enjolras said nothing in return, but rather stared at Grantaire and cocked an eyebrow. Shocking the cynic even further, Enjolras did not move an inch. The only parts of him that were not immobile were his eyes, which travelled over Grantaire’s face, neck, and shoulders. They came to rest on Grantaire’s lips, and he _could not breathe_.

Grantaire could have sworn that he was dreaming, but if he was, then he never wanted to wake up. Enjolras was so close that Grantaire could feel the other man’s breath ghosting over his own lips, and he licked them unconsciously. Grantaire saw Enjolras’s eyes go dark, and suddenly his half-formed “Wha--” was silenced by Enjolras pressing his lips against his own.

Grantaire barely had the power to kiss him back, he could scarcely believe that it was even happening. When the other man realized that he was getting no response from his partner, he groaned in frustration and disconnected himself. He looked at Grantaire, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. “Grantaire,” he whispered, reaching out and tracing the slope of his nose with the tip of his finger, letting it trail all the way to his lower lip.

Grantaire’s lip trembled in response, and he could not help the tiny gasp that escaped him when Enjolras moved his hand to cup the back of his neck, pulling himself up further at the same time.

Enjolras moved his head forward once more, but this time Grantaire was ready.

When Enjolras’s mouth made contact with his own, he responded eagerly. His blood was fire, burning through his veins as their lips moved in synchronization with each other. He matched every ravenous press of Enjolras’s lips with as much hunger and heat, and when he felt the slide of Enjolras’s tongue across his lower lip, he welcomed it, urging him on with a groan.

Grantaire sat up, encouraging Enjolras to maneuver himself so that he was straddling him, barely keeping his balance on the air mattress. Their mouths barely lost contact, only parting slightly so that they could share breath.

Grantaire could scarcely keep track of which sounds were made by him and which were made by Enjolras--he still barely even believed that _it was actually happening_. All that he knew was that he was absolutely euphoric. Every noise, every touch, every shared inhale was slowly driving him mad, and he could practically _feel_ Enjolras moan, all the way to his toes.

He could definitely feel it in his cock.

Enjolras clearly felt it as well, because he knew _exactly_ the way to grind down into Grantaire’s lap to have him gasping for breath.

As their hips collided with each other again and again, Enjolras detached himself from Grantaire’s mouth to press his lips to the other man’s throat, sucking a mark into the skin. Grantaire groaned as Enjolras traced the mark with his tongue and brought him down to the mattress once more.

They were a mess of tangled limbs and grasping hands, letting out moans and sighs of ecstasy as they moved together. Grantaire was just working up the courage to inch his fingers to the front of Enjolras’s pants when they heard a clatter outside the tent.

Enjolras clambered off of Grantaire so quickly it was a wonder that he didn’t pitch himself _through_ the fabric of the tent. “ _Breeeeakfaaaaast!_ " they heard Courfeyrac cry from outside.

They stared at each other, chests heaving, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The one thing that resonated in Grantaire’s mind was that _Enjolras kissed him __, and his lips were tingling._

Grantaire realized that he should be thinking about anything _but_ that because it was showing through his sweatpants.

Enjolras just kept _looking_ at him, and Grantaire had a really difficult time seeing anything other than the other man’s kiss-swollen mouth, thinking that _he_ had done that to him. _He_ had mussed that perfect hair into tangled knots and rucked up the shirt that he was wearing to show the perfect V that his clothes were hiding.

Enjolras’s eyes started to wander, travelling over Grantaire’s face and neck. His gaze fixed onto a spot just below Grantaire’s ear and he actually _smirked_.

“You may want to cover that,” he said hoarsely, and then left without another word. Grantaire’s hand flew up to his neck and noticed that the skin was, in fact, slightly more tender than it was before.

_Enjolras gave me a hickey_ , he thought, barely believing it. He ran both hands through his hair and attempted to get his breathing back under control once again. Once he thought that he could stand without his legs betraying him, he searched through his duffel bag for something that would sufficiently cover his neck. 

He emerged a minute or so later, wearing an over-sized olive green hoodie that covered him nearly up to his ears. The majority of his friends were gathered around one picnic table, but he couldn’t help but notice that the other table, and Bahorel and Jean Prouvaire, were missing.

Combeferre must have noticed Grantaire’s confusion, because he jerked his chin to just behind Grantaire and Enjolras’s tent. “It’s supposed to rain, so they’re putting up tarps.”

Grantaire turned around and saw the other table, angled at probably 45 degrees against the tree, with Bahorel clinging onto the top of it with his toes while his fingers made quick work of tying a knot in a length of rope around the tree. Jean was helping support the base of the table by laying his body across the one seat. Grantaire just raised his eyebrow at them, wondering whether or not he should help.

Deciding that breakfast was a significantly better idea, he went to join his friends at the table.

Courfeyrac plated eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns for him and Grantaire set to devouring the food when he felt eyes fixed on him. He turned his head to his left and found Éponine’s unfaltering gaze on him. He quirked his brow at her, and mouthed “What?”. Instead of a response, she just shook her head and shrugged her shoulder.

He resolved to just focus on finishing his meal, and succeeded without looking at either Éponine _or_ Enjolras, who was sitting to his right.

He was even more grateful for his sweater when he felt a blush beginning to creep up his neck when the latter’s gaze also fell on him.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac began to clear the paper plates from the table, and then prepared to do the dishes. Courfeyrac let out a loud groan seconds later which was followed by Combeferre declaring that they needed water to do the dishes, so one of them would have to go to the tap down the road.

Grantaire made the mistake of making eye contact with Éponine, who then volunteered: “That’s okay! Grantaire and I will go get it!”

“We will?” asked Grantaire, but she had already grabbed both the pot to boil the water and his hand, dragging him from the picnic table. They made it just out of eyesight from their campsite when Éponine whirled around and grabbed the neck of his sweater. She yanked it to the side and let out a gasp that was somewhere between scandalized and ecstatic.

“Oh. My. God. _You and Enjolras?!_

” she exclaimed. She was practically vibrating with excitement and Grantaire had to clamp his hand over her mouth to stop her from shrieking. Once he was satisfied that she had calmed down, he removed his hand. “ _Finally_ ,” she exhaled.

Grantaire furrowed his brows together. “What do you mean ‘finally’?”

Éponine seemed to have just realized what she had said. “Well, I mean, finally for _you_ , because you were so convinced that it would never happen. But also finally because ‘Ferre and I may have placed bets on when you would finally make a move on him and now I win ten bucks?” she finished, her voice growing ever-quieter as she rambled on.

Grantaire had to take several deep breaths to stop himself from screaming in his friend’s face, since she looked very much like she wanted to shrink herself small enough so that she could boil herself in the pot that she was carrying.

“Okay. I won’t even start to elaborate on just how wrong it is that you’ve been betting on us, but that is only because I am far too happy to _actually_ care.” He carried on, despite the massive grin that stretched across Éponine’s face. “However, I will have you know that it wasn’t me who made the first move.

Éponine clamped her own hand across her mouth this time, simply exhaling, “No fucking way.” When Grantaire simply nodded in confirmation, she said, “I need absolutely every single detail.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Grantaire and Éponine made their way back to camp slowly, careful not to lose the water that they had worked so hard to get. When they reached the campsite, they were greeted by Courfeyrac leading their friends in a dramatic slow-clap. “Congratulations! I don’t think that it could have possibly taken you any longer to get a pot of water.”

Éponine flipped him her middle finger as she held the pot in her other hand. “We saved you the trip, didn’t we?”

Combeferre was tasked with starting the cooking stove so that they could boil the water, and Grantaire and Éponine took up one of the picnic tables to themselves. “I can’t believe that it just _happened_ like that,” sighed Éponine. “And just think that all this time you thought that he hated you.”

Grantaire followed her sigh with his own. “Well, I wouldn’t be too sure that that’s changed, yet. He hasn’t said two words to me since we left the tent.”

Éponine scoffed. “It’s not like you actually gave him the chance. You didn’t even make eye contact with him at breakfast,” she hissed.

Grantaire groaned again, and reached into the pocket of his hoodie, fingers grasping for the cool steel of his flask, Coming up empty, he realised that he neglected to put it in his pocket in the first place, being too wrapped up in what happened this morning. “I’ll be right back,” he said to his friend, and set off to his tent so that he could retrieve it.

He returned shortly after and took several sips of it as soon as his ass hit the wood of the seat. He closed his eyes as the warmth slid down his throat, and carefully ignored Éponine’s pained glance.

“If we really want to talk about strange relationships, what about you and Combeferre? You guys have been acting very odd since we got here,” he said accusingly.

Éponine blushed from her throat to the roots of her hair. She opened her mouth several times, clearly trying to explain. After multiple failed attempts, she simply blurted out, “Combeferre ate me out last night.”

Grantaire choked on his whiskey, cursing out loud as it burned his lungs. “He _what?!_ ”

Éponine punched him in the arm, glaring at him and looking around the campsite to make sure that no one else was paying attention.

Grantaire held up his hands in surrender, just praying that she didn’t hit him again. Once they both had time to control themselves, he asked with a smirk: “So...how was it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this fic so far. I definitely intend on taking a few more chapters with this (god, Jessica, how many chapters can a camping fic HAVE?!) and this is by far my favourite chapter that I've written. This is also the first time I've written anything that even hints at sex, so feedback would be GREATLY appreciated! 
> 
> Thank you all for being so wonderful and patient I love all of you xoxo


	6. The Deer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire and Éponine are met with more wild creatures and the leader and the cynic have a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! As always, I'm terribly sorry for my irregular updating schedule, but I've been stuck with crazy shifts at work and I'm still battling the demon that is writer's block. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Later that morning, after Grantaire and Éponine had swapped stories about their romantic exploits, they resorted to snapping pictures in and around the campsite. It started with candids of their friends, but they gradually made their way down the dirt road to a small field.

Grantaire took the short pause as an opportunity to light a cigarette, while Éponine ventured into the field to look at some of the wild flowers growing in it. Éponine was one of Grantaire’s favourite subjects, in any medium, so he took the opportunity to take pictures of his friend while she picked flowers. 

The tranquility of their private field was disrupted by a loud _crack!_ that came from the woods surrounding the field. Éponine fled from the one side closest to the trees and flung herself into Grantaire’s arms, clutching his shirt with white knuckles.

They both squinted into the dimness of the forest, trying to see what had caused the disruption. They didn’t have to search long, and Éponine let out a delighted gasp when a small fawn emerged from the trees, lifting its hooves delicately across the grass.

“Hello there, sweetheart,” Éponine cooed, releasing Grantaire from her grasp. She moved forward to reach her hand towards the deer, attempting to coax it into coming closer. She was met with success, and Grantaire quickly snapped a photo of the deer sniffing Éponine’s knuckles.

Éponine was practically wriggling in delight, and just as she worked up the courage to try to pet it, the fawn leaped backwards in fright. “Oh nooo,” Éponine moaned, pulling the corners of her mouth down into a rather comical frown. Grantaire laughed and extended a hand to help her up, and as they were about to return to their site, they heard several more _crack!_ s from the forest around them.

They both whirled around, reaching for each other’s hands. They wrapped their fingers together as four fully-grown deer emerged from the forest. “Shit,” Grantaire said, seeing that two of the deer had rather large sets of antlers.

“What do we do?” whispered Éponine.

Grantaire took a deep breath, not letting his eyes stray from the animals who were doing the same across the clearing. One of the male deer lifted one of his hooves and stamped the ground. “ _Run_ ,” Grantaire whispered.

They ran like children, fingers clasped together and laughing breathlessly the entire way. Grantaire realized that they weren’t actually being pursued, but they kept running anyway, not stopping until they reached their campsite.

Both of them were shrieking with laughter by the time they had a chance to sit down, and Éponine collapsed against Grantaire’s chest. The rest of their friends stared at them in bewilderment, entirely unsure of what to do with their hysterical companions.

Once Grantaire had composed himself long enough to take a drag of his still-burning cigarette, he relayed their encounter to their friends.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. “I think you _may_ have overreacted. Just slightly.” That earned a few chuckles from the others, and an embarrassed giggle from a red-faced Éponine.

Instead of giving a response to Combeferre’s remark, Éponine sat herself down next to Jean Prouvaire and offered him the bouquet of wildflowers that she had picked in the clearing. Jean’s face lit up in delight and he gushed about how beautiful they were, picking one out of the bunch to tuck it behind Éponine’s ear.

Grantaire couldn’t help the smile that spread across his features; he had rarely seen his friends so carefree and happy. Turning to put the camera on the picnic table behind him, he was met face-to-face with Enjolras.

“Walk with me?” Enjolras asked gently. Grantaire nodded, slightly confused, but put out his cigarette and followed the other man nonetheless.

Grantaire could feel the eyes of their friends follow them as they left the campsite, but the paranoia of being watched was nothing compared to the paranoia of why Enjolras wanted to walk with him.

Enjolras took a deep breath once they were out of sight from the campsite. He took a left and soon they found sand beneath their feet, and Grantaire was blinded by the sun reflected off of the lake. Grantaire allowed himself a moment to be struck by the beauty of the beach around him, but it didn’t last long, and Enjolras took him by the sleeve and led him to a tree in the sand.

“Oh,” was all that he was able to say, nearly having the wind knocked out of himself when he was forcibly sat down on one of the large roots. Enjolras looked at him for a long time, as if he were trying to decipher some hidden message that lay in Grantaire’s features. At Grantaire’s quirked brow, Enjolras shook his head and started pacing in front of the other man.

Grantaire wanted nothing more than for the other man to simply say what was on his mind, but the fear of what would be revealed kept him from opening his mouth. He simply watched Enjolras pace back and forth, nearly dizzying himself in the process.

Enjolras finally stopped, and Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh when he looked down and saw the line that the other man had _literally drawn in the sand_. Enjolras turned to him with a look of mild annoyance, but opened his mouth nonetheless.

“To be completely honest, I’m not entirely sure exactly what came over me this morning,” Grantaire visibly deflated at that, but Enjolras held up his finger and carried on. “I didn’t say that I don’t want it to happen again, Grantaire.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said again, more softly this time. He allowed himself a small smile, and surprisingly received one in return, accompanied by a deep blush.

Enjolras joined him on the base of the tree, and they sat in comfortable silence, watching the water meet the shore. It was so peaceful that neither of them noticed when Bahorel came up behind them, so they both dived to the ground when his hands landed on each of their shoulders.

This naturally led to Bahorel keeled over, gasping for breath, he was laughing so hard. The laughter turned into a chorus of hysteria when Feuilly, Courfeyrac, and Éponine all joined in as well, emerging from the trees.

Grantaire found it hard not to join in with them as well, especially because of the indignant look on Enjolras’s face as he attempted to shake sand out of his sweatshirt pocket.

“How long were all of you there, exactly?” Enjolras asked.

“Not long, Enj. We were just all wondering where you two had run off to,” Courfeyrac said, cocking an eyebrow at Grantaire. The artist returned his suggestive look with a glare, daring him to continue to voice the thoughts that were forming in his head.

Thankfully, Courfeyrac decided to keep his thoughts to himself and joined Grantaire in the sand, the rest of their friends following suit.

Grantaire watched happily as Jean Prouvaire laid himself down in the sand, using Courfeyrac’s lap as a pillow. The group simply sat together for a while, with even Enjolras lowering himself to sit beside Grantaire, keeping a slight distance between them so that he was _just_ not quite touching him.

Feuilly set to telling the group a story about when he had gone camping with his foster family when he was young, animatedly waving his hands in the air as he imitated his older brother’s reaction to a rattlesnake.

The afternoon went on and the group found the evening creeping up on them suddenly, hardly noticing the passing time while they were immersed in swapping stories. Éponine ended up half in Grantaire’s lap, her head pillowed on his shoulder while she entwined her fingers with Combeferre’s. Enjolras had moved just slightly closer so that his and Grantaire’s shoulders brushed when they laughed along with Bahorel.

As the sun just began to set, the group started to get restless. There were a few rumbling stomachs from the gathered friends, but they were all too content being lazy on the beach to get up.

Bahorel’s stomach made an exceptionally loud noise, so he rose from the sand. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m fucking starving. I’m gonna go get food,” he turned to Feuilly and the other man grabbed his arm and hoisted himself up. They set off towards the campsite as the rest of the group remained, none of them making even the slightest movement.

Éponine occupied herself with playing with Grantaire’s hair, knowing how much he enjoyed it. Further proof of how well she knew him, she blew gently in his hair, making the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and making him squirm, just as she knew he would.

Grantaire squirmed even more when her breath reached his ear, wiggling out of the way…

...and directly into Enjolras’s lap.

Grantaire froze, his tongue caught between a bumbling apology and a crude remark. The former won out, and he stuttered “Sorry,” and attempted to smack Éponine with the hand that was not supporting his weight.

Enjolras merely cocked an eyebrow and laughed slightly, taking advantage of their hands hidden behind his back to brush his fingers over Grantaire’s. Grantaire closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, hoping that Éponine couldn’t feel the way that his body stiffened.

Enjolras set to tracing patterns across the back of Grantaire’s hand and Grantaire could feel himself relaxing as he did so. He breathed in time to the waves crashing against the beach, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who is still reading this, in particular those of you who have bookmarked, commented, and left kudos! I see you all and those kind actions never cease to amaze me and bring a smile to my face. xx


	7. Spin the Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I'm so so so so sorry for the year gap between chapters, but my life was all kinds of crazy. Another year wiser, and this story is still eating at me.)
> 
> Les Amis play the best (worst) game of all time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major shout-out to anyone who was here since the first chapter and is coming back, and a very warm welcome to new readers. Also a shout-out to my friends who organized a camping trip and thus renewed my ideas for this fic.

Dealing with Enjolras after his confession on the beach was an...interesting affair.

It seemed as though he had made simultaneously the best and worst decision in his entire existence. He walked from the beach to the campsite, not speaking a word to Grantaire or anyone else, but he walked with an ease that had not been there before. It was as though he had won a massive battle while also trying to fight a dozen smaller ones.

Once the group had returned to the campsite, led by Courfeyrac and Bahorel, arms linked and hollering campfire songs as they went, the question of What next? hung heavy in the air.

Enjolras and Grantaire had, for the most part, been able to keep up the charade of nothing having changed. It was noticeable, though. Palpable in the distance between them, so solid and defined that it could have been cut by a knife.

Even Feuilly, who typically didn’t acknowledge these sorts of things, seemed to sense that there was something different. Bahorel was the worst, though, shooting them glances with his eyebrows raised and his lips quirked into a smug smile.

When Grantaire finally confronted him about it, Bahorel just raised his arms and backed away in defense, saying “Nothing, man. Chill the hell out.”

This was, of course, noticed by Enjolras. He stopped himself mid-conversation with Combeferre and turned, eyes the size of saucers fixed on Grantaire.

The other man returned his worried glance with a shake of the head and rolled his eyes heavenward, hoping to convey that Bahorel was just being an enormous pain in the ass.

The charade was kept up until their fire that night.

Every single person in their group was well and truly drunk, even Enjolras. Grantaire’s eyes caught on him while he was making s’mores with Jean Prouvaire. His head was tilted back and he was laughing heartily at something the poet had said, gripping his side while also simultaneously trying to balance his marshmallow roasting stick.

Grantaire was staring so hard that when Éponine came and glued herself to his side, he let out a startled yelp and nearly fell off of the bench.

The noise attracted everyone’s attention, and he felt half a dozen pairs of eyes on the pair of them. Éponine’s unconcerned giggle made most of the others return to themselves, excepting Combeferre, whose eyes lingered on her for an extra minute.

“Sorry, darling,” she slurred into Grantaire’s ear. Her breath was sweet and strong with the scent of coconut rum, and she huddled into his side, shifting pointedly until he slung his arm around her shoulders.

Grantaire chuckled as she tried to take another sip of her drink, then huffed indignantly as it sloshed over the rim and onto her sweater. “ _You_ are well and truly fucked, love.”

Éponine groaned quietly. “Tell me about it,” she sighed, and Grantaire definitely did not imagine her eyes roaming over to Combeferre. He made a sympathetic noise and rubbed circles into his back, then allowed his eyes to wander as well.

It turned out that he had very poor timing because in that exact moment, Enjolras’s gaze was fixed solidly on him across the campfire. He could feel his cheeks flushing at the attention, and his breath came short and fast when the other man smirked at him. The light of the flames made him look truly angelic, and Grantaire’s fingers itched for graphite or chalk or paint so that he could capture him.

Once again, he got so wrapped up in his staring that he barely even noticed that Jean Prouvaire was headed his way until the last possible moment.

His friend stood in front of him, offering...something to him. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he had marshmallow and chocolate smeared on his wrists and the front of his lilac pullover. “For you,” he announced, waiting patiently for Grantaire to reach his hand out and take what he was offering.

It took a moment for Grantaire to notice what it was in Jean Prouvaire’s hand, but when he did, he accepted it with gratitude. The s’more was sloppily made, but the marshmallow was slightly burnt, just the way that he liked them. Grantaire thanked him and bit into it eagerly, enjoying the treat while Éponine hummed a tune under her breath, only for the two of them to hear.

He nursed his drink for a while, and within a few minutes, there was someone approaching them again. He looked up and saw Enjolras walking purposefully in their direction, and for a moment, his heart stopped. Unfortunately, at the very last moment, he veered to the left and sought out another drink from the table that they sat at.

Grantaire set his gaze to the fire determinedly and took a mouthful of his drink. He watched the flames dance until he heard someone clearing their throat beside him.

He looked up again and found Enjolras standing above him, amusement quirking his mouth into a half-smile. He was just about to ask him what he was doing when his hand shot out and grabbed him by the chin. Enjolras’s thumb swiped at the corner of his mouth, then he pulled it away and showed it to Grantaire.

“Chocolate,” Enjolras said by way of explanation. Then, just when Grantaire thought he couldn’t possibly be more turned upside-down by him, he licked the melted chocolate off of the pad of his thumb.

Grantaire made a sort of choked sound in his throat and he was fairly certain that his eyes were bugging out of his head. It was impossible for him to even recover, even though he was suddenly very aware that everyone else around the fire was watching him _again_.

Enjolras drew in a little gasp, then rubbed the back of his neck nervously. The pink in his cheeks told Grantaire that he was very embarrassed, as did the stiff way that he walked back over to his chair beside Jean Prouvaire’s.

“I have an idea!

Grantaire very nearly groaned aloud. The declaration had come from Courfeyrac, who was perched on a tree stump beside Bahorel. He was holding his newly-empty beer bottle aloft for everyone to see. While Grantaire was grateful that everyone’s attention was no longer on him, he felt _very_ apprehensive about what Courf’s idea was.

“If you are thinking what I’m thinking, I think that you’re thinking of a great idea,” Bahorel slurred, then returned to chugging his beer.

“Oh, my dear friends, I humbly suggest that we play one of the greatest games ever thought of by mankind -- sorry, _human_ kind,” Courfeyrac announced, rising to his feet. “Spin the bottle.”

Grantaire’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, but before he could protest, several of the others chimed in and agreed with Courfeyrac. The only person who didn’t was Éponine, who reasonably asked, “And just where are we going to do that? There isn’t exactly a flat surface out here.”

The split second of relief that Grantaire felt at that was broken when Feuilly got up, rummaged around between the tents, and emerged a moment later with a box. He unfolded it and laid it on the picnic table behind Grantaire and Éponine. “Problem solved,” he proclaimed proudly, rearranging the bottles and cans that littered the rest of the surface.

Everyone else gathered around the picnic table while Feuilly filled his arms with the still-full drinks and shouted, “Where the fuck is the cooler?” Grantaire ended up sandwiched between Jean Prouvaire and Éponine once they both turned around, and he was directly across from Enjolras. The latter wore the expression of dread that Grantaire felt very clearly displayed on his own features.

Spin the Bottle was usually one of Grantaire’s favourite games, but that was only because Enjolras _never_ elected to play it with them. Even though he had so desperately wanted to kiss him before, he was always glad that it wasn’t going to happen for the first time in front of all of their friends.

It took Courfeyrac upwards of five minutes to explain the rules, despite the fact that everyone knew how to play, and then the bottle was finally spun by him, setting the game in motion. In a span of twenty minutes, Grantaire saw some of the strangest couplings possible, including a short, close-mouthed peck between Combeferre and Bahorel, and an _extremely_ overzealous kiss between Courfeyrac and Éponine, the latter of whom feigned a swoon directly in Combeferre’s arms.

Grantaire had his fair share of action during the beginning of the game, too. He shared kisses with Jean Prouvaire, Éponine, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel, all of whom he had kissed before. He felt enormously pleased with himself that he had been so comfortable, and that everyone seemed to be having such a good time.

That was, at least, until he spun the bottle after Bahorel had landed on him. He watched as the neck of the glass spun five, six, seven times until it slowly landed on…

_Enjolras_.

A noticeable hush fell over everyone. Even Courfeyrac, who had made up a song to go along with their game, put an abrupt stop to his melody.

Grantaire raised his eyes to meet those of who the bottle landed on. Enjolras looked halfway between surprised and nauseous, and Grantaire drew in a shaky breath when he licked his lips involuntarily.

He rose from where he was kneeling on the bench so that he could get up and over to him, but as soon as he was close enough, he heard Enjolras murmur a rather upset-sounding, “Fuck.”

_Fuck_. Grantaire knew that no one else heard it, but no one else needed to. He resolved to just turn and head into the tent, or maybe pitch himself off of a cliff, but as soon as his feet started to lead him into the darkness, a hand snaked around his wrist.

His heart jumped up into his mouth and he felt a mixture of dread and anticipation shoot into his very core. He turned around, arranging his features into a mask of impassiveness, and he was met with a startlingly close Enjolras.

Everyone was still watching them, but Grantaire couldn’t really bring himself to care because suddenly, it was just the two of them in the entire world and all that mattered to him was the determined way that Enjolras was looking at him, like he had just found a new cause to care about, to _dedicate_ himself to.

In the space of a breath, or maybe it was an hour of Enjolras looking at him like _that_ and the hand was gone from his wrist. He didn’t have a chance to mourn the loss because then it transferred to his cheek, holding him in with the other one on the opposite side. All that he saw next was perfect lips curling into a smirk and then he was absolutely _gone_ because Enjolras was _kissing_ him in front of all of their friends.

The kiss was short, but it was just as passionate as the one they had shared in their tent earlier that morning. Grantaire’s blood was singing and he could have sworn that the crackling in his ears wasn’t the sound of the fire, but rather the sound of the fragile globe that their new relationship had been enclosed in shattering to pieces.

In the brief moment that it lasted, he was fairly certain that he had forgotten how to breathe. Enjolras pulled away with a gentle nip to his top lip, and he stood in front of him and stared.

There was no sound at all for a few moments. Even the fire and the crickets chirping were just white noise, and Grantaire would have forgotten that there was even anyone else there if it weren’t for Bahorel.

“ _Nice!_ he breathed, but it was so loud that it broke the stillness between the pair. Everyone else dissolved into titters of agreement, and Grantaire allowed himself to be dragged by the sleeve back to the picnic table.

He slid in between Jean Prouvaire and Éponine once more, just before his shaky knees would have likely collapsed. Éponine tangled their fingers together, and Jean Prouvaire pressed a smile against his temple. He pointedly ignored Courfeyrac, who had his chin cradled in his hands and a massive grin plastered on his face. He was also aware of some sort of exchange going on between Bahorel and Feuilly and it took him a moment, but then he realized that those fuckers made a _bet_ because Feuilly was sliding a crumpled bill into the other man’s hand.

All he could do was quirk an eyebrow at them because none of his features wanted to arrange themselves into anything that wasn’t a stupid smile.

With stars in his eyes, he watched the bottle spin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all, and as always: kudos keep me alive and I love hearing from any of you, so comments are ALWAYS treasured. xo 
> 
> And for anyone interested: I am also over at jarjartwinx.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> SO, there we have it.
> 
> This is going to be a multi-chaptered fic, but there's only so much that Les Amis can get up to in a week of camping, so it won't be too long. I will (hopefully) have a lot of time to write, as I'm only working right now so there isn't much else that I have to do. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and remember: I'd love to hear your thoughts about this, so any comments you have (especially of the constructive criticism variety) are greatly appreciated!


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